


Dispossession

by Failed_to_Deanon



Series: Resolution [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerys Is His Own Warning, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Complicated Relationships, Minor Violence, Not A Fix-It, Not Rhaegar friendly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26071024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
Summary: Summary: A mad king regaining his sanity may not be a good thing for all.
Relationships: Minor Aerys II Targaryen/Rhaella Targaryen - Relationship, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Past Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen - Relationship
Series: Resolution [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186265
Comments: 85
Kudos: 166





	Dispossession

**Author's Note:**

> It's too hot this summer and I am not liking it one bit!
> 
> Also, lbr, I wrote a thing basically around a very special tag and to see how many Dune references I can squeeze into a fic and not mention an Atreides by name. On a related note: though Aerys did not actually kill any Stark, Arryn, or anyone else prior to the making of the fic and no rebellion happened, he still scared me and I wrote the thing and just had to share it.

He must look a sight, he thinks, being brought to his father in chains. 

He takes a deep breath. Him in chains is what his father wanted.

But, why now? It has been a year, at least. Surely, his father has not softened towards him. Even at this distance his father sneer is visible from his perch. 

Barristan the Bold stands at one end of the foot of the Iron Throne’s base. His face is woefully blank. Ser Gerold at the other end. Ser Gerold looks pained before he wipes away any sentiment. Not so strange to him. These men had years of practice at schooling their features no matter what his father had done.

Bound as he is, he almost flies at the second man. Ser Gerold was why he been thrust down into the Black Cells. He had known Ser Gerold had been a loyal Kingsguard, but, he had not expected the man to betray him or divulge his secrets. Arthur and Oswell had not!

He takes a calming breath. As many nights he spent cursing his trust in Ser Gerold, he cannot worry about that now. Ser Gerold was not Arthur or Oswell. Putting his trust in Ser Gerold had been his own mistake. It is not the knight’s fault he had been Kingsguard before he had been born. He was the one who remembered too late that Ser Gerold of the Kingsguard was nothing without the king’s favor and he was no king, was he? 

Now…he needs to worry about what happens now. He had lost a year already. He lost his father’s favor well before the year he lost before that chasing destiny. 

When Lewyn pushed closer towards his father, he swallows unconsciously. There were differences in his father before him and the father who threw him in the deepest of the Black Cells.

This man looks healthier; less gaunt, less thin. The beard is shorter. It, like his father’s hair, was combed neatly. He is close enough to see his father’s eyes are no longer reddened, the purple shines through. He looks down to his father’s hands; the nails, no longer yellow, have been cut.

This is more pleasant, but, he cannot say it pleases him.

This was the way his father used to look before Duskendale. Almost. 

So many things had been different before then. His father had not hated him. Seeing his father as he used to be should please him. Yet, dread fills him. The cold fury in too clear eyes scream of his father’s still burning hatred spat out from over a year ago. 

Confused and alarmed, he realizes too late Kingsguard is not the only audience. Viserys was perched on an ornate, if smaller, throne next to his father’s. It was not the Hand’s chair because that, too, sat empty. Was that supposed to be his mother’s?

He shakes away the thought. That does not matter when the dark look Viserys gives him promises nothing good. Still, it is the miniature of him tucked into Viserys’ side, practically on his lap, that strikes him with wonder. 

Aegon. His son, his heir!

Clothed similarly, Viserys and Aegon could pass for brothers rather than uncle and nephew. 

He tries to smile and to step forward but the chains won’t allow for it and Lewyn drags him back.

It’s cruel to keep him from his son. Of course, his father would revel in such an opportunity.

Still, this was his son! 

His boy glances at him curiously. And just that quickly Aegon turns to Viserys who distracts him with a tickle that has Aegon giggling and his father staring at the pair with an indulgent look he has not seen directed at him since he had been a boy himself.

That look Aegon gave him fills his thoughts. Had it been natural curiosity of a child or has his son truly forgotten him?

As much as he wants to smile at the sight of his brother and son at their play, all he can think is that the last time he had seen his son, he’d been swaddled in fine linens that Elia threaded together herself. Though there was still fat in his cheeks, Aegon’s limbs thinned out. Aegon had barely been able to sit up or crawl when he left Dragonstone.

Once more, he curses his father internally. What else had he missed? What else was he denied? As if his distress can be felt his father’s sneer grows larger. His father beckons. “That’s alright Lewyn. Bring him closer. I want to see him.” 

Him. Not even “Son”, not even “Rhaegar”. The word had even been spat out like his father tasted something filthy.

When close enough Viserys pulls Aegon firmly into his lap. Aegon turns to Viserys and pats his cheek as though trying to reassure him. Viserys smiles for Aegon, but, not before granting him a look of utter loathing.

Viserys used to eagerly try and wanted to follow him everywhere. What had his father told Viserys to act like that? 

His father chirps towards Gerold and Barristan, “Leave us, would you, with Lewyn? Take my boys to the nursery. It’s late.”

‘My boys?’ He swallows. Viserys gives him a glare and turns back to their father, to start “Father-”

“To me, Son!” Is his father’s command.

Without another word Viserys obeys with Aegon hand clutched in his as they scrambled towards his father who smiles beatifically. “My boy, a King’s work is never done, no matter how unpleasant a duty-” 

Aegon chirps, “Bad knights.”

He sucked in a breath, worried for his son who would not know his father detested being interrupted. But, his father only laughs, delighted. “Yes, just like that, my boy! So clever.” 

Both boys smile at him. His father gives him a quick smirk as he leans down to pat Aegon on the head. Though done gently, he stiffens at the gesture, worried for his son. His father’s next words are no less disquieting. “But, you, my boys must rest now so that when you are grown you may handle your own affairs. Especially Aegon, who will king after I am gone, needs to be fit to take on any troubles. And we are more than aware that troubles can caused by our once dearest and Viserys you must help him, after all, when I am gone who else can he rely on besides you?”

Aegon beams at his grandfather and Viserys nods, pulls Aegon towards him and hugging him, giving his father a wide smile.

He begins to call out “Aeg-"

Even as Viserys grimaces, his father hisses, “Quiet before I take your tongue! Do not address either of them. Ser Gerold, Ser Barristan take my son and grandson away now!”

Was that it? Was that all he was going to see of his eldest son? His brother? No, this cannot be it!

He struggles and once again tries, “Fat-”

Lewyn digs his nails into his skin and hisses, “Quiet!”

He turns to Lewyn, betrayed. Lewyn looks placidly back. With another glance in his direction, his father’s face hardens. “Lewyn and Payne will be enough company, for now. Barristan fix the chains before you go.”

Ser Barristan, who had not so much as said a word to him does as his father bids, making sure to keep his hands, still in chains, pulled tight behind him.

Both Viserys and Aegon give his father a quick peck to cheek to his father utter delight. 

He cannot understand. How could his father be so soft with them but keep him like this? Had he truly treated his father so ill? Had he truly been a bad son? Was this his reward for letting his father have his way?

His father remains silent when the chains are attached to a hook attached to a wall. Still, he is not near enough to approach the lowest step of the dais in front of him without effort. 

Since he’s closer now, his father’s nose twitches.

Despite himself, he flushes in shame. Perhaps he has grown used to the stretch of the dank air of the cell he had been shoved into. He turns to look at Lewyn. Lewyn had not allowed him a proper bath. He thinks, his last true bath had been more a week ago. Lewyn, once loyal and ever with a kind word, had nothing for him today besides barked orders to make him presentable as possible without allowing the luxuries once he had been familiar with. Even today, he’d been no more than a small pail of cold water to clean himself up and a rag that barely counted as cloth. 

With Gerold leading Aegon away he can hear Aegon ask, “Who is that?”

Viserys gives him another angry look. “Someone who made our Mamas cry.”

What? How could Viserys even think that?

Aegon gives him a look of horror and presses himself closer to Ser Gerold as if hoping the man would protect him. His son believes that! No one else here questions it. 

Something in him dies in that moment. The last time he saw his son he could not even walk and here he was letting himself be dragged away by the false knights and his brother who now hates him.

How far had it gone? What sort of lies were they being fed? 

He turns to his father and too pleased face.

It’s only when the group is gone that Lewyn speaks. “I want to get back to my niece. Baratheon has been keeping too much of her company, I think.” 

The mention of Elia and of “Baratheon” startles him, but, it seemed to please his father, who rubs an idle hand across his bearded chin. 

Lips twitching, his father says to Lewyn, “Then, you are not needed now. Our cousins are being hosted in Darry for the night. I gave you those instructions before I saw my aunt and her grandson off. You could not have known what with-” his father gestures towards him absently. 

His father laughs and Lewyn is grim, but, there is an amused glint in Lewyn’s eyes that remind him painfully of Elia. His father tells Lewyn: “Our daughter is seeing to her filial duties.”

What filial duties? Garin, Elia’s father, was dead. Though Lewyn was as good as her father, Elia only called him what he was, her uncle. What does it mean?

His brows furrow. Surely, his father had not meant himself. Though his father demanded Elia’s hand from her lady mother on his behalf, his father made it no secret that he disliked Elia. After they had presented Rhaenys to him, it was all too clear how much his father hated his wife. And how he calls her daughter?

Even as he tries to process the strange words, and strange because his father had not spoken like that in years, his father turns to him, giving him a more familiar, if unwelcome, smirk. “We will, of course, continue to remedy the ills done against our daughter and I should not like it if she would fall under the sway of unsavory persons who would only abuse her gentle nature again.” 

What did his father mean by “remedy the ills”? And, when had his father ever cared about Elia’s “gentle nature”?

Even if, once, he would have liked to hear his father speak about Elia that way his father’s words are disturbing. He cannot comprehend this change. Was he threatening him by mentioning her? Or Lewyn? But, that does not seem right because Lewyn only nods easily. “Anything else before I go, then?”

His father smiles ruefully. “No. Tywin is coming to King’s Landing in a month. Since Rhaella is too heavily with child, I mean to have our daughter plan something. That will keep her busy among her other duties. A feast of some sort and a hunt. Our old friend did like pomp, after all.”

Both men laugh though their levity is short lived. 

Blinking in shock at the revelation of his mother being with child again, he notes his father’s cheer falling away, leaving a cold calculated glaze. “And a tourney. Even, I gave him his heir back, if she does balk at the idea at first, I am certain my heir’s mother understands how important it is to rebuild our position with my Hand.” His father turns to him, sneering, “Perhaps she might get that crown of flowers she deserved.”

How did Lord Tywin have his heir back?

He barely registers the thought. It’s the other things…

Lewyn huffs, though not without taking a moment to glare at him, for that offence which was never meant to be one. “Empty gestures do not work on her.”

His father guffaws, “Of course not, but, some bright young thing would clamor to Deria’s girl a bunch or two especially now as is her right to receive them. We shall see to it.”

Lewyn nods agreeably before leaving him alone with his father. 

He frowns, not exactly alone, but, Payne will not intercede on his behalf. 

His head spins. A year and he does not know which was the sky or ground. He forces himself to be calm. His being out of sorts is what his father wants.

Even the sting of helplessness cuts him, shocked, he asks, “Mother is truly with child?”

A slow smirk spreads across his father’s eyes “Aye. Like as not you will never see the child, living or dead, or your mother, for that matter.”

“You can’t keep me from Mother!”

His father lifts his chin. “She doesn’t want to see you. Why do you think she would? If you disappointed me, you disappointed her. She has our other children and our grandchildren to think of, my proper heirs. You are nothing to her now except our greatest disappointment.”

His father’s words rushed past him. What other heirs? They only have Viserys!

Oh…he recollects…“You named Aegon your heir?”

His father replaced him. No longer his child because now Elia is his daughter. No longer his heir because Aegon is. Both as a child by his wife, and as an heir by his son? His father claimed his family for his own and threw him away. 

His father looked down at him, lip curling. “As unsuitable you turned out to be, that wife of yours whelped a suitable grandson for me. What sort of cur would I be if I did not reward her for that? Hmm?” His father ended in a smile.

What about you? Weren’t you unsuitable?

As if his father could read his thoughts, his father’s cruel laughter fills the room. Once that accursed laughing stops, his father demands, “Would you have rather I named Viserys my heir and washed my hands of all of you? I could have, but, there would have been grumbling. You already caused too many for me to invite more.” 

His face grows ashen at the mere possibility but, his father laughs again. 

His father corrects himself. “And there would have been more grumbling, isn’t that right, boy? You nearly messed everything up. No matter, I will fix it. After all, that is what fathers do, isn’t it? Fix their errant son’s mistakes? The rest of them made no mistakes. True, the girl does not look like us, but, I had Deria’s girl checked more than once before I allowed you to wed her, blood of the dragon or not; after all, I would have never allowed a whore to call herself my good-daughter. And the boy looks too much like us not to be my grandson. He is such a sweet boy anyway. They both are such sweet children and so good to their grandfather. As much as you failed me, your mother and your wife will teach them not to. They all have been good to me and have their uses. I am happy to oblige them as is my duty.”

He swallows back the words he almost asked about “uses” and the thought of his father profaning the word duty.

His father laughs bitterly. “Yes, I quite made a mess of things and so did you. Boy, even when I was making them, at least I had the sense not to make most of my errors before all the realm.”

‘Unlike you’ his father did not need to say the words for him to hear them. 

“What is to happen to me?”

His father chortles as he claps his hands together in abject glee. “Since you clearly wanted to be far from King’s Landing and thought to plum yourself on what the North had to offer, I’ve made arrangements for both.”

Confused, he asks, “What?”

“So impatient, hmm?” His father’s eyes practically shine, but, not with terrifying madness, but, with cold shrewdness. His father claps his hands again. “Everything has already been arranged. There is a boat, tonight, waiting to take you to Norvos where you will the service of a Norvosi nobleman for the next five years. Maybe that will teach you to appreciate what you threw away in your belligerence.”

His face grows ashen seeing his father’s cruel mirth! “Father, you cannot send me East-” 

With a sneer, his father yelled: “I can do what I want.” His father laughed. “How are you not pleased? Were you not the one who wish to do away with the responsibilities of a Crown Prince? Here you are. A servant has no responsibilities. And since you tried to tie yourself to the North in secret like a criminal, at the end of those five years you will be brought back to Westeros, though it will not be here. You will be sent to the Wall where you will take vows where you will go to Shadow Tower. You will never set foot in King’s Landing again; this, I promise you.”

“You cannot just throw me away!”

His father leans down towards him; his face is twisted into a grimace “You threw yourself away when you disrespected me! Do you know what I have had to do to fix the mess you made? Do you think I would just stand aside and do nothing while you try and make a fool of me?”

He tries to plead, “You cannot punish me like this! I am your son.”

“My son?” His father laughs harshly. “Be grateful I hadn’t taken your vile traitorous tongue, or have you beaten black and blue in the streets. No one would lift a finger, not now! Why do you think anyone would care for you? Because you played the harp in the streets once or twice? I can pay a thousand minstrels to do it day and night if I wanted to waste my money. No, Boy, you have no right to expect anything of me, not after the Stark boy came here yelling about you taking his sister!”

“Where is my wife?”

Father huffs, “Elia is-”

“I meant Lyanna.” 

His father sneers. “That girl? She is no wife of yours, Boy. But, since you asked, she’s back in the North where she belongs.”

“You sent her back?”

For a moment, he thinks, at least she-

He gets a dark look before his father says, “Of course, I sent her back to Winterfell.” Then, his father snickers, “Ah, right, she is now with the husband her father chose for her.”

“What? What husband? I am her husband.”

His father gives him a look of utter loathing. “The only person who can claim you as a husband is under this roof.” His father laughs. “Your Northern tart is nothing to me.”

“She is not a tart! She is my wife!”

His father sneers, “According to who? I did not agree to a match and neither did her father. Your mother certainly did not and hers is dead. And, you have a wife already, why else would I have a grandson for an heir? Forgot your lessons, did you, boy? Only one wife, just like me. It’s been that way since Jaeherys the First.” His father sneers again. “Or do you consider yourself the Conqueror reborn?” 

His face heats. “I swore vows to her.”

His father laughed uproariously. “Maegor was denied when he had a crown and a dragon. The dragons are gone and of the both of us, I am the only one wearing a crown. If I had to marry the woman my father and mother bid and only her, you are not exempt. You already gave Daria’s girl the cloak of our house before half the realm. What did the silly slip have besides secret words of a pack of traitors? Oh, yes, that made for quite an entertainment.”

“Father, you cannot!”

His father narrows his eyes. “I can and I did. She was always her father’s problem and she stopped being mine when I replaced the dowry Stark won’t dare ask our cousins to return. You could have promised the little thing was your wife ten thousand times and that would not have made her anything, especially since she wasn’t yours to make promises to.”

“She was with child.”

Though he had been placed in the Black Cells, Connington had snuck into down to tell him that he had a son. Yet, he had been caught. He never saw Griff again. 

His father huffs, “We sent the wolfpup off to the Faith.”

He stumbled, “My child? To the Faith?”

His father snorts, “When I have all the dragons I need, and maybe another dragon waiting, I have no use for him. Since Stark didn’t want him, off to the Faith that ill-begotten pup went.” 

His father just shrugs in the face of his dismay, as though casting aside kin is nothing. But, isn’t that what his father is doing to him?

A jeer plays at his father’s lips. “You might have forgotten your lessons, boy, but, I remember mine. I will not suffer another Blackfyre or anything like it; neither will my wife, the wife I got you, or my heir.”

That cannot be right. “Father!”

His father smirks, “Oh, so now I’m your father? Not a few years ago when you failed to tell me about the Knight of the Laughing Tree? When you vanished with a lord’s daughter? When you nearly made me lose my alliance with Dorne? When you made me look like a fool when that Stark boy came screaming for your head? No, boy, you are no son to me anymore. Even the girl you helped squirt into the world, I have more use for. No matter what she looks like on the outside, there’s good blood in her. The Tyrells will be happy to have her for their heir or maybe Tywin’s boy’s wife pops out a son and I can send her West or to Riverrun; there’s also Tully’s boy, after all. No matter, I will see to it. It is my duty since you were all too eager to abdicate yours.”

He cannot just let this pass! “You cannot-”

He balks, but, his father just laughs again. “What are you now when even our cousin Baratheon has his head on straight? A year ago he was out for our blood, but, my lord commander proved his loyalty and the Dornish brought you back, and your little thing squeaked out her own part in this. Suddenly, our cousin’s bluster vanished like a windless sail. And, as for Elia-” 

“You are giving her to Baratheon?”

His father sneers. “No, fool boy, I said she is useful. And she will continue to be, to me! Besides, she will still be your wife for the next five years, remember? So long as she remains a dutiful daughter, if I need her to marry after that, that day, I’ll drown the streets in Dornish red.”

“You do not like Elia!”

His father laughs again. “Yet, I chose her. I do not need to like anyone so long as they remain useful. She has been. Tully’s eldest girl married the fool Stark once I freed him. She has her hooks into both quite nicely, just like she does Mace’s wife, and Tywin’s golden heir; funny thing that. That day your little thing spoiled it for herself was a blessing for all of us. My aunt, Rhaelle, you remember her, the grandmother of the man whose betrothal you spat on, has grown just close to our daughter, so much so, that she even asked for our help search for “good brides” for Robert from your wife’s new correspondents. As pathetic as it is, many people want to see her smile now they all know how stupid you’ve been. Oh yes, she had been quite useful.”

Something, no doubt his father, helped with to see.

And as if the Gods were not cruel enough at that very moment Elia and Mother glide into the room, wearing nearly identical tiara’s though Elia’s was somewhat less ornate, as though to denote the difference status. Elia carries a platter with a small amount of rich food he has nearly forgotten the tastes of. Rhaenys is in front. A pair of men that appear familiar but seem wrong, bracket them. Another man he never met in clothing he does not recognize is last. 

His heart jumps. 

He tries to go towards them but the length of the chain he is attached to will not let him go far and the clink of the chains frightens his girl who sinks back towards Elia’s orange and black silks. 

His stomach drops. Aegon had been young, but, does his darling not recognize him either? He had carried her on his shoulders, read to her…his first born…Gods…What else is to come tonight?

His mother and Elia briefly look at him before quickly turning their gazes towards his father. Without a word, they stride, side by side, beyond him, their backs identical in their rigidity. Still he sees the steely glint in Elia’s eyes and the tensing of his mother’s jaw.

Caught up in seeing his family, he only just realizes what is wrong. The two familiar men…they are in Kingsguard white. What vacancies had been filled? Lewyn, Barristan, and Gerold he saw. Has Ser Jonothor died or fallen ill? Jaime was young yet. Alarmed he wonders if his father had Arthur and Oswell killed.

He swallows down the terror welling up within him. There is no place for it in this moment. He needs his wits about him when he does not know what he faces. When the strongly built man with grey streaks through his red hair to Elia’s left maneuvers Rhaenys away from him, Elia smiles. 

Elia also smiles dutifully to his father, bowing her head. His mother, also giving a dutiful smile, does not bow but lets his father kiss her hand; her face does not reveal any emotion. His daughter, his Rhaenys, gives his father a cheerful wave which his father returns with a smile too sharp to remind him of better years. 

The knight on his mother’s other side, clutching a bag of brown cloth, also remains silent. The golden hair and the sneer firmly planted on his face give way to the knowledge that this is a Lannister, though not Ser Jaime. Where is he?

He dismisses the thought as his father leans forward to speak as he beams that insidious smile as he gestures to the platter Elia carries. “My dears, is that for me?”

Elia glides up the steps, smiling tightly offering the burden in her hands. “You have not eaten, Father.”

He swallows. Filial duties indeed. 

His father, once again, smiles falsely. “How delightful. My daughter, you are ever so considerate.” There is a pointed look in his direction that everyone willfully ignores.

Guilt thrums through him. All the court knew his father disliked his wife despite she had done nothing to incur his ire and he left her on Dragonstone which was well within his father’s reach.

His mother pleads, “Eat, Husband, you must eat for your health.”

His father laughs, seemingly content at the women’s solicitations. Then, he turns to Elia. “Daughter, take some first. I doubt you have eaten well today.” 

At the demand, Mother and Elia exchanging a knowing glance.

His father had called Elia thin before. No…he called her sickly among other less kind things after she had been presented at court after the birth of both Rhaenys and Aegon. She was slender, true, but, he only ever thought anything approaching that when she finally claimed victory in the birthing bed. Now, she was not even so slender so much as svelte. 

Why the farce?

Oh, he thinks, when another jab of guilt strikes. As much as his father’s hatred tears at him, he feels no joy at his father’s fear of being poisoned, not when this is the result.

For her part, Elia, gaze still firmly set up on his father, tears off a piece of bread and dips it into the mutton. She even ensures both the mutton and the sauces it was cooked in were caught by that piece of bread. With a smile, she pops the morsel delicately into her mouth, chewing slowly. 

He remembered the few times his father and his wife were in the room. She was always trying to seem brave in the face of his father’s vitriol. Today was no different though this time he is the one frozen in shock and dismay. 

She acted as though this was nothing, a regular occurrence. Has it been? How long had his father used his family as food testers? Was it just Elia? His mother? His children? 

Was this one of the uses for his family his father mentioned? Did his father require it of his family because of him? 

Something lodges itself in his throat. He never meant this to happen. Gods, when he had left Elia and the children on Dragonstone, he had not thought this would be the result. He never would have-

Never? A dark voice in his mind asks.

He pushes it away. Both he and his father are pleased when nothing happens, but, once again, he can take no joy in it or that Elia offers the tray again. 

Yet, he can sense his father is not so pleased, because, in between the unnervingly thoughtful chewing his father says to his mother, “You should not be here, Rhaella. You are with child. You should have greater care.”

His mother shakes her head even as she plants a hand across her distended stomach. “I toiled to see him come into the world while our kin were dying. I wanted to see him before I let him go. Would you deny me that?”

His father gives her a dark look and he thinks of all the times is father terrorized his mother…all the times he had not helped her and the times when he could have. A different guilt fills him. Now that he knows of his father’s plans for him, will he be able to help her in the future? And if so, how? Had his father been honest about his plans? How will he make it back to Westeros?

Inexplicably, his father’s gaze softens. “Say your piece, then go, Rhaella. I will not have you more troubled by him than we already have been.”

He stiffens at the words and the tone. How dare his father? He was the one who terrorized his mother! But, the closer his mother gets, he breathes her in. Even after nearly two years, the scent of her perfumes almost causes him to shed tears.

“My dear boy,” Mother starts, “I am sorry I failed you, Rhaegar.”

Distressed, he starts, “Mother you- “

She shakes her head. “Forgive me, Rhaegar, for not being the mother I should have to you.”

He muffles the scream daring to make it’s way out of his throat. He cannot comprehend because his mother had always supported him, sided with him, and loved him. How could she say this, “Mother?” 

Looking pained, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. When she opens them, he sees a hard glint to her once soft eyes and a frown settling around that rarely smiling mouth. “A better mother would have urged you to pay attention to your responsibilities and taught you how to honor our gods and our ways.”

She steps back and looks as though she is going to cry. His mother’s tears well, yet, they do not fall. He finds his own heart breaking. When Elia places a hand on his mother’s arm his mother straightens, looking every inch a queen with dry eyes.

His mother shakes her head. “It matters not now. But, please, be good now. Obey your father. If not for me, then for Elia, and your two children-” 

His father cries out, “That is enough, Rhaella!”

His mother falls silent as she looks to his father as though waiting for instructions that do not come.

Elia, a touch urgently, asks, “Mother, please take Rhaenys to the nursery?”

His mother does not argue, just smiles brokenly at Elia, but, his daughter goes to refuse the dismissal. This time his father does not allow the interruption. “Bring my princess up here first!”

Bile rises up. “My princess” his father says. 

Rhaenys clamors up the steps, eager to see her grandfather. Will no one even mention how dangerous the swords are.

Too late he recognizes that his daughter is careful. How often has she done this? 

This is even more alarming than when Viserys had done the same with Aegon. His father had never been kind to his daughter. What had his daughter witnessed while he languished in the gaol? What changed her to cause this?

His father smiles down at Rhaenys and took her small hand in his deceptive hands. A chill runs down his spine when his father advises his daughter, “Obey your mother, Child! Good children listen to their mothers. You don’t want to be a bad child and hurt your mother, do you?”

The last, along with a sharp look, his father directs in his direction though his daughter is similarly horrified at the prospect. 

He swallows. So, that is his father’s game. What can he do to fix it?

His daughter gives his father a childish curtsey. “Yes, Grandsire. Sweet dreams.” She follows that with an arm dutifully thrust in her grandmother’s which both his parents react to with a true smile. 

Seeing that his father beams magnanimously. “There is my good girl! Run along, my little princess, my good girl, go with your grandmother and Ser Bryden. Rest now. I shall see you tomorrow.”

The grandfatherly joviality falls away as soon as the door closes again. Still, when his father asks of Elia: “Do you have that letter?” he finds none of the blatant hatred of him his father has is directed towards her.

Then, he notices the platter carried more than just food. His father scans it and smiles as he seals it. Though he proffers it to the unknown man, his words are towards Elia. “Daughter, we are pleased with your efforts. Lord Hawat will be ever a useful ally to continue to have. I am sure you will do what you must to ensure the ties remain.”

Is that who he is being sold to? Lord Hawat. He thinks the name is familiar, but he does not recall from where. He never met with the Norvosi as a part of his duties and there had not been any on Dragonstone. 

The stranger rumbles, “The Princess knows well House of Hawat welcomes closer ties to your family.” 

Elia adds, “Lord and Lady Hawat have been kind to me though we have met so infrequently.”

She knew this Lord and Lady Hawat? 

His father jeers, “We are much pleased they are relieving us of a great burden.”

Now that the shock at seeing his family has vanished, the outrage sets in, “Father! You cannot-”

His father shoots up from his throne and down the steps so quickly he tries to take a step back but no one else so much as flinches. “Enough! I have had enough of him! Get him out of my sight!”

To Lannister and Payne, he demands, “Take the passages and the tunnels. He wanted to sneak away and do as he likes; he does not get the dignity of my hallways.”

His father grabs Elia by the shoulder. “I am trusting you to get him on the boat! You will not fail me, Daughter, will you?”

Elia swallows, but, as usual the Kingsguard does nothing. Then, Elia smiles tightly at his father, “No, Father, I will not.”

His father beams. “Good, at least one of you knows your place! But, Daughter, fear not, he will be taught. After all, this is my gift to you!” 

At that he finds himself snarling! “How dare you?”

Elia gives him a warning look! 

“Payne!” His father yells and he felt a blow from the back. 

As he comes to, he blinks. There is a heavy cloth tied against his mouth. He cannot even utter a sound, it is so tight against him. A dark colored cloak covers him. 

Elia, also dressed in a dark cloak, is pale with worry. That bag Lannister carried in must have had the cloaks, he thinks, trying to distract himself from his worry. The Lannister knight is also wearing one. 

Seeing him awake, His father demands, “See this, Lannister?” 

The knight drawls, “Your Grace?”

His father gives him one more dirty look. “See how uncouth this thing that calls himself my son is? The last time he took a voyage he hid in secret and spat upon the laws of Gods and of Men. It was only through faithful souls that we rectified his ineptitude. Now, this cur still thinks he has the right granted to kings. He forgets he is not a king and will never be one. He is not even the head of his family. But, he will be taught. This is my promise to the realm.” 

As much as his chest grows tight, Lannister smiles easily. “Of course, Your Grace.”

His father smiles that hateful smile once more. “I am both the lord of this family and of these kingdoms. So, it not my right to determine how to punish the most errant of our subjects?”

Lannister nods agreeably. “Yes, it is. What are your orders?”

His father sneers again, “Get him out of my sight.”

His father “And, Daughter?”

Elia sneaks a look at him before turning back towards his father. “Yes, Father?”

A smile plays at his father’s lips. “I am trusting you to be my witness. Stay at the docks until the ship leaves.”

She nods, “Of course, Father.” 

Perhaps he can escape. Surely, she would help him. She always had.

And just as quickly his hopes are dashed when his father announces, “Lannister will stay with you and the fine Ser here.”

Elia hesitates before she asks, “Will Ser Richard or Ser Jonothor arrive to guard you soon?”

Oh, of course, there was no one else here and his father would be left without a proper guard. But, who was Ser Richard? 

He shakes the question away. 

Elia, his clever wife, is looking for some sort of give. Of course, she is helping him to escape. Surely, she could not want to continue to live like this. This constant living in fear of his father’s moods or the change in their children…

Once more the guilt sets in. Clearly, she had coped, but, how much fear has she had to live with every day for the past year?

He chances a look at the stranger. Will they be able to convince this stranger to lie? Perhaps they can convince the man to take him somewhere else? 

This man, He does not look the type, but, had not his father said that Elia had good ties towards this…Hawat? His father had not been wrong in how his missteps caused him to lose allies. Perhaps he can go East but not as a servant but something else?

It troubles him because he cannot grasp how to manage it, but, that can be figured out later. It can all be sorted out later.

His father shakes his head. “Young Lonmouth and Jonothor are both resting. Let them. Take Lannister. I insist.”

Lonmouth? Surely, not Rich? His squire? A Kingsguard? Was there no one of his that his father had not claimed as his own?

His heart sinks further when his father adds, “Payne is good enough company for now.” 

Lannister would not be convinced. Or maybe he can be? Lord Tywin is coming in a month. Perhaps, there is a way. He only needs to think.

His father, still with Elia in his grasp, points in his direction. “That has always been the greatest threat to me. It is a pity I had not realized it sooner. You must be guarded. It is my duty to do so since the man who you call husband abdicated it.” 

At that, he bristles, yet, his father huffs unconcerned. After all, what else could Elia say in this moment beyond agreeable murmurs. 

At last, his father comes to stand directly in front of him, sneering. “Oh, and Boy, for once in your life, take my advice. Make no waves. Your life may depend on it yet. Where you are going, the wife had been married once before to her husband’s kinsman. That man was very an ungallant fool to his true wife and met with a very ignoble end. Try not to be that example more than you already have been.”

Elia looks away and he finds himself ducking his head. 

To Elia his father says, “Fear not, Daughter. Had I not promised that I would make things right for us?” 

With a pat to Elia’s shoulder, his father pushes past him, and Lannister drags the hood of the cloak over his face. Despite Lannister’s rough shoves at his back, his familiarity with the Red Keep allows him to keep steady steps even in the darkness. 

Yet, that disturbs him little when Elia says nothing. Was it Lannister? The threat of his father? 

Far too quickly, he is brought to a standstill. He feels the barest spray of mist when Lannister uncovers his head. 

It is the dead of night. The moon glows and he takes in the sight of the line of waiting ships. Which one is to take him away? A thief in the night…just like his father says. 

He swallows. No, this time he is being pushed away. And pushed he is, towards the end of the dock. His dread grows once again. 

As heavy as his head feels, he lifts it to see the name of the accursed vessel. “The Golden Path”. A gift his father said to Elia. 

This was a mockery. The only path this boat will take him is towards obscurity and away from those he loves & his destiny. 

“Ser? Please remove the cloth?”

Remove the cloth? She had said nothing while he was being dragged. Is that all she would say? 

Lannister grimaces. The stranger is unmoved. 

She tries again. “A moment, please, Sers? This is the last time I am to see my husband after all. There is time, yes?”

To the knight, Elia, looking pained, asks, “Ser Gerion, please?”

Lannister sneers in a parody of his father’s. “We will talk to the captain, but, we will not go far.” After a moment the Lannister, Ser Gerion, pats at her hands.

His face heats violently. How dare this man try to reassure his wife! As if he was the danger she faced!

The stranger nods. “There is time yet and we have to sort out a few things yet,” comes the accented rumble from the strange man.

“Don’t bite,” The Lannister barks as he wrenches the ball of cloth from his mouth.

Lannister and the stranger walk away, intercepted by some man he never met. 

“Elia? You have to help me, please?”

Her face falls and she shakes her head violently. “I cannot.”

Frowning, he wonders if he heard that right! “Why not?”

She looked mournful, but, he caught the brief irritation that flittered across her face. “He has our children, Rhaegar. What do you want me to do? It was fortunate enough your mother and I were able to convince him to send you to Feyd-”

All the frustration from his father finds itself bleeding through. “Feyd! How familiar with my new ‘master’ you been!”

She took a horrified step back, but, now her eyes blaze in fury. She hisses, “You abandoned me-us and want to accuse me of what? Infidelity? With a man younger than your father by a year and married besides? How dare you? You brought that woman into our marriage-”

Not this! He swallows. He had not meant that! Gods, can he do nothing right? Has his time in the gaol muddled his wits? And, he has only so much time. He cannot let her be hung up on past hurts. Surely, she can see he needs her to be brave and act now! They will not have another chance. “Elia I promise she was never going to interfere. But, we can-”

It was not a cold night, yet, Elia shivers and draws her cloak tight against her body. “What? Discuss it another time? I never had a chance to ask you a year ago or even before that. How could she have claimed to be your wife without you endorsing it or putting it into her head?”

He swallows down his temper. He cannot afford to lose her like this. He has only so much time left. “It does not matter. She is not considered my wife by anyone. Father told me his father married her off and sent our son to the faith. I do not even know where. Do you-” 

Elia laughs, the sound is cruel in ways she never used to be. “You ask me, even now?” Again, she shakes her head. “Of course, for them you would dare, would you not?” She sighs with a disdainful curl of her lip. “I can tell you she is at Karhold. She wrote to me after she was married to one of Lord Arnolf’s grandsons. I do not know which Septry the boy was placed in and I am not going to put myself at risk to ask.”

With a pang he realizes that that was all he was going to get from Elia about his child…if she was telling the truth. Would she lie to him? Perhaps, but, would anyone truly tell her? Still the part with Lyanna he does not quite grasp. He says, “Arnolf is not Lord Karstark.”

She snaps, “The lord’s younger brother. Lord Stark arranged the marriage with one of Arnolf’s grandsons after Lord Baratheon obviously withdrew his suit.”

She ends in a grimace; but, he was focused on her words. “She wrote to you?” 

Perhaps something can be salvaged. His father crowed Elia had new companions. Perhaps some were Northern. Perhaps there may be a way to get word to faithful souls and Lyanna was not in danger like Elia and his eldest are of discovery. Perhaps she could find a way that Elia could not risk while under his father’s watch.

Elia gives him a dark look. “Twice.” 

“Of course, you write back.” He slumps in relief. Surely, they can still-

Elia exhales sharply, looking pained. “The first came while she was still at Winterfell. I sent it to Lady Catelyn and the second went to Lady Branda, her good-mother. With both, I requested she be made to refrain from writing to me. The second time seemed to stick, thank the gods.”

Horrified he blurts, “Why would you do that?”

Disgusted, she turns away, as though she did not even so much as want to look at him. “Lady Lyanna might think nothing of dismissing her Southron good-sister’s views on decency, but, perhaps she has some sense to not disrespect Northern good-mother so.” Elia huffs as she looks back towards the men still entrenched in conversation. “Or, perhaps, her good-mother took matters into her own hands. How it was done matters not.” 

Dismayed, he demands, “How could you?”

Elia’s lip curls. “When I would have been at peace never receiving any of Lady Lyanna’s unwanted solicitations, neither letter from Lady Karstark contained the only thing I could have wanted. Lady Hornwood rightly advised me to involve those respectable women whose duty it is to curb licentious behavior of those who live in their households since she has no mother I could have appealed to. Would you have preferred I wrote to her father or her husband instead?” 

He blinks, disturbed. Hornwood is a Northern house. Why would Lady Hornwood aid Elia in this? And Lady Lyanna. Lady Karstark. And Father and Husband? Seeing Elia like this, back straight, dark eyes furious, it almost frightens him to ask. “What had you wanted from her?”

Perhaps he can still salvage this yet.

She stares at him through narrowed eyes. “An apology for daring to presume that because you both decided she had the right to push me out of my own marriage or a rival for my children into the world she was entitled to my time or attention.”

Dismayed, his shoulders slumped. His children’s confused animosity he could understand as they were young yet. They did not remember him well. But, surely Elia could not have been convinced against him so easily? Had he hurt Elia so badly? He shakes his head. “She was never going to take your place and neither was my child with her our children’s. You were to be sisters-.”

Her face twists in disgust. “Sisters share clothes and jewels, not take husbands for their own!”

He cannot say if it was nerves or terror of what will happen since Elia’s outburst caused those men to turn in their direction, he blurts, “And what sisters have you had?”

Lannister goes to take a step forward, but, obeys the unspoken order to remain behind when Elia waves him off. 

She looks at him with such hostility that he almost steps back. “No fewer than you. But, even so, in the Water Gardens there were enough almost sisters and I have plenty of ladies who I would welcome as a sister well before the woman who helped herself to the husband who left my children and I to be your father’s playthings.” 

“And for that you hate her? Do you hate my child as well?” 

She laughs bitterly. “Because I have no hate for them you think I should love them? Why? ‘Because my pride should not be wounded by such a small matter?’” 

He bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from cursing outright. Harrenhal. It always came back to that accursed tourney. Elia only waited they were alone to round on him about giving Lyanna those roses. “How many times must I apologize for that!”

She shakes her head. “You never have. You only exclaimed it was nothing when you gave her roses in front of all the realm and not a week after I nearly died to give you your heir you ran off to get ‘married’ and got her with child,” she ended in a sneer worthy of his father.

Defeated and tired, he tries again, “Elia, please, I am begging you. Help me. Is there anything I can do? Surely you cannot hate us, hate me, so much?”

She shakes her head, “Haven’t you listened or learned anything? Your children and I live on your father’s sufferance. You forgot you did as well. Do you know how much begging and convincing it took your mother and I to even to for your father to allow you to live at all? Or your precious other family? No, Rhaegar, I am not going to help you. I cannot. No one can.”

Defeated, he resolves to stop speaking Lyanna or of his other son to her. She will never see that he meant her no harm by bringing Lyanna into their lives. Too late he sees it, though, now he does clearly. “So, you will just let me rot in Essos with such people, and an even slower death in the North?” 

She shakes her head. “You do not get to put the blame on me. You squandered the trust I had in you! This is your doing. When you could have acted, you did not. So bear this, like we all must.”

“And still you side with my father?”

After a quick look towards the men who seem to be engaged in conversation, she jabs a finger into his chest. “What choice do I have? When you ran off and I was forced to come to King’s Landing to answer for you with our children. It was your actions that announced to the realm that you care nothing of vows and oaths, our lives, or the lives of others who depended on you. All I have is the choice you left me with and that is to be under your father’s thumb until Aegon is fully grown.”

“Who is going to protect you from my father if not me?”

She laughs. “When have you ever protected me from your father? What sort of protection did you think you were giving us when you went off galivanting on your grand adventure leaving us where your father could get at us. But, fear not, Rhaegar, I do not fear him. I know the part he needs me to play and he knows the part he wants to play. As mad as he is, the incident with the Stark boy made him see how badly he looks. That is what I have.” 

That must be a lie. A fool’s hope. Surely Elia can see “He has you taste his food for him.”

She laughs, “That was a show for your benefit. Even if I had not supervised the making of that meal myself, long before this your mother and I have taken to drinking small amounts of poison regularly so that if someone dared poison him, we do not succumb to its effects. Besides, do you think he truly fears poison? Now? Who would attempt it? The Stark boy was the only one who raised his voice and that was against you, not your father. There is no one left.” 

But, you, her eyes seem to say, and he was being sent away.

He has to get her to see! “He turned his madness against our mother before and me. What makes you think you are exempt?”

She smiles grimly. “As mad as he had been in the past, he has changed. Not in a way that makes me love him. Never that. I can love your mother, but, I can trust him to do right by me and mine because it suits him. I have no choice. Supposing he dies when Aegon is too young. Do you think you think anyone would allow either your mother or me to be regent? Until your brother and my son are grown, we are stuck with your father as much as he is stuck with us. As paltry as it is, with him, I know what I must weather.”

He asks, “And not me?”

She shakes her head in a finality that pains him. “I did that before. We all did. Do you know what it was like to have Rhaenys ask about you every day to then hear her ask nothing? Aegon had barely lived a moon’s turn before you vanished from his life. All Viserys knows is that your father raged about your behavior when the Stark boy came calling and your mother spent countless nights crying herself sick worrying about whether you were alive, dead, or hurt? And we did not know. Have you given a thought to where Oswell and Arthur are or the shame their families laid bare for all Westeros? The Seven Hells, Rhaegar, the only time your father even came close to another rage was after Connington’s stunt. He had not killed the Stark boy, but, he came close to doing it with Connington. We all trusted you once. We cannot afford to risk his rage for you.”

Bile rises in his throat.

He sneers. “And you will just, what, ensuring my father’s food is prepared or organizing tourneys for his Hand?”

She huffs, briefly glancing towards the Lannister knight. “They would want a tourney.” Then, her face hardens as she turns back to him, “But, yes, if that is what is needed to keep my children safe. After all, I have been doing it and that is just a small part of what tedious tasks good-daughter’s to kings and mothers of kings are required to do.”

What went on in the year he spent in the cells that she would be so resolute? What had had his father done? What had he allowed to happen? What could his father offered to make her so content?

The ugly truth slinks into his mind. His father offers her a shored position at court and protection from everyone else even if not a king. Most of all, she would get distance from an unfaithful husband who never protected her or children from said king when he had all the tools to do it!

“Where is Griff?” He asks, instead of yelling back or pleading. 

She swallows heavily, but, looks almost relieved at the change of subject. Then, he realizes, yes, he already lost her.

She sneaks a look towards the occupied pair of men. She whispers, “His seat belongs to his cousin Ronnet now. He is not to leave Griffin’s Roost, ever. If he does, Lord Robert, with your father’s permission, has given the word that any man of the Stormlands may kill him.”

He takes an unsteady breath.

“And Lonmouth?”

He asks that because what else is there for him to do? He cannot convince her anymore. It hurt, her lack of belief. He will not deny it, but, he cannot do anything about it now. He lost her trust in him. Can he ever get it back? Can earn it back? 

Later, he decides. He needs to find a way back. There is time yet. Five years before he will be sent to the Wall. He has time. He must find another way. Surely, he can think of one. In time his disgrace will fade, and his father’s madness will show its ugliness. 

He looks at Elia’s imploring eyes. But, can he risk agitating his father? Lyanna and their son are lost to him, but, can he truly put his family, the one already at his father’s mercy, at risk. He tried once before and look where that got him! Elia cannot even bring herself to desire the risk!

She sighs softly. “He and Ser Brynden were elevated after Ser Arthur’s and Ser Oswell’s were forced to join the Night’s Watch.”

Her answer barely registers that when a fresh wave of guilt flows through him. He lost, he thinks. Like him, they, too, have been pushed aside. Because they had followed his orders; because they believed in him; because of him!

“They are both in the Night’s Watch?”

She frowns, but, “Arthur is at Castle Black. Oswell is in Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.” 

He frowns. His father said he was bound for Shadow Tower. 

Truly separated…

Was there anyone to convince? His mother? His too young children who were charmed by the king and grandsire they saw? Who would aid him now that Arthur, Oswell, Jon are all disgraced? Even Rich was not his own anymore.

He looks towards the Kingsguard. They are all loyal to his father. The Lannisters tied themselves back to his father again. Other houses? Those that looked to him as an alternative to his father’s madness? But, who would now? But, if what Elia says is true?

The Crownlands and the Reach would not risk their prosperity under his father. The Dornish would not side against Elia for him, even the Yronwoods or the Dayne’s now. The Westerlands is lost to him. The North? No, he lost that hand if his father was telling the truth about Lord Brandon and Elia about Lady Catelyn and the Hornwood woman he remembers now had been a Manderly and a worshiper of the Seven by birth. The same goes for the Riverlands. The Vale? He has no ties but the Stormlands do and they will not aid him. The Iron Islands? No.

It is a crushing realization. He lost. In one way or another, he lost them all. He knew his father hated him. Gods, he’d been such a fool to think that his father would let him have his way. He had known he should have curbed his father’s excesses for years…He should have acted on it and he had not…

The weight of dismay nearly shatters him. There is nothing he can do.

The men come back. The stranger announces, “It is time.”

His time here draws at an end and once more he looks at the boat. Golden Path. The path to defeat and oblivion.

He takes a breath and soldiers on, “That’s eight Kingsguard, not seven.”

The Lannister snorts, “My nephew is no longer a Kingsguard, remember.”

No titles for him and no respect…not anymore. Squandered, Elia had said. But, Gods, his father lectured him on his vows and dares to do this! “Do Kingsguard not serve for life unless bound by other oaths?”

The Lannister knight shrugs. “The King had been mistaken in his belief that my nephew wanted to be a member of this fine order and that my brother would think it an honor. Naturally, the Faith understood and rectified the mistake.”

He ignored the jab. But, there had been no mistake. By that appointment, his father meant to rob Lord Tywin of his heir, not honor him regardless of whatever the youth had wanted. He knew this. Surely, everyone did.

Ser Gerion sneers, “Our king had been fed lies about my dear nephew’s supposed desires; those lies had been made known. Our generous king, in the spirit true benevolence and of his and my brother’s years long friendship, restored my brother’s heir to his proper place.”

His father had no spirit of friendship or benevolence unless it suited him. “Whose lies would my father listen to? Varys? Pycelle?” 

Where were those men anyway?

The man dares to smile softly at his wife before drawling, “Yours.”

His throat runs dry. He could deny it. He should deny it. But, why? Why bother saying anything? This man already knows truth from fiction and cares not. Elia does not refute such a thing either. 

It is a bitter thing to know that this was the only use his father had from him: a tool to erase his own faults.

But, what recourse does he have? 

His mother let him go. The only wife anyone will allow him to claim will not aid him. His children, the ones he held, do not remember him. His friends and most loyal are lost to him…and it is all because of him. Try as he might, he cannot pretend.

The stranger announces, “We should go.”

Elia bites her lips and wets them. “Think ill of me all you wish, but, I have to think of our children and my duty to the realm.”

He nods because what else can she say with Lannister watching. In truth, he does not think ill of her, even if he wants to. Their marriage was not built on love, but, rather an alliance built on oaths and companionship she kept and he violated in an unmistakable way and now he has nothing to offer.

He finds himself asking, “Can I kiss you, one last time?”

Her face crumples; because she does not want him to or because she fears what Lannister would say to his father, he cannot say. Yet, she comes close. “Goodbye, Rhaegar. I wish it could be different.”

“But, it cannot.”

He sees that now. Side with his father who still has the world at his fingertips or him who has nothing, not even his good name.

She agrees. “It cannot.”

He kisses her cheek. He whispers, “Keep our children safe and yourself.”

What else is there to say? He cannot change his past. He cannot ask her forgiveness; too much has passed for her to want it or accept it. And now his future and that of his family is uncertain except for the looming spectre of his father that he cannot defeat.

She nods and steps back. Lannister holds out a key to the man while taking Elia’s arm in his other one.

As heavy as his footsteps feel, he lets himself towards the back of the ship towards a small cabin. He does not look back. He cannot bring himself to look at Elia or at the shadow of the Red Keep in the distance which seemed only to grow large yet seemed so far.

The man breaks his chains. His hands are finally freed from their confines. He rubs his wrists, but, the pain does not recede; an echo of the chains that still bind him. 

He looks at the man standing between him and the door of the cabin. He is trapped. But, he already knew that. He had only been fooling himself.

He only read about Norvos and there was only so much he knows. He asks the man, “Have you been to Norvos?”

The man gives him a strange look but admits, “I hale from it.”

There is no point to ask him what it is like. He will not live there forever but he is not a visitor. He could have been once. He never thought to try and now he will not get the chance in a way he wants. 

He asks, “Do you know the Padishah Hawat well?”

The man, despite his stern demeanor, gives him a small smile. “I joined his father’s service when I was six and ten. I was in his own service for some years before coming to Westeros.”

“What sort of man is he?”

A man like his father perhaps? Or kind to his servants? But, he was a special kind, wasn’t he?

The man’s face grows soft. “Respectable; he is a devoted to his people and family.” 

Family which his father and Elia seem to know. “Is his family large?” 

The man gives him a startled look but answers all the same: “He and Matre Irulan, originally of the house of Kaitan, is his lady wife have been bound for nearly 15 years. They have three children, Farad’n who came first and then Harq al-ada who came before the daughter, Tanidia. And, of course, you are familiar with the Padishah’s sister, Princess Mellario.”

Gods no! Surely not! Because there was a frown growing on the man’s face, he blurts out the first thought that comes to mind: “My father said something about the lady being married before.”

The man gives him a pitying look. “Yes, Matre’s previous husband had a concubine who he called ‘his wife’ while married to the Matre and claimed to anyone who would listen that she would be the one to carry his heirs.”

As if he needed more proof of how deeply his father hated him. He had liked Doran better than Oberyn. He had thought that good-brother of his quite shrewd. Had he truly made his father so much that he would use employ people that once could have sided with him to further his own schemes? Elia had said his father had become different…And now he could do nothing about how low his father would sink to spite him. But, he should have known…He had known and done nothing. 

He takes a breath and ask, “Was it true…what happened to him?” He asks though knew the answer. 

The man rolls his shoulder. “He was driven to the desert and died in disgrace.”

He swallows. His father does not drive him to a desert but he, too, will be pushed towards frozen wasteland in time. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, that instead of screaming himself hoarse.

The mountain of a man lets out a knowing sigh. Still, he humors him: “Areo Hotah.”

“Will you be staying in Norvos?”

When will he be left alone in a strange land to serve a man ‘devoted to family’ whose wife is already predisposed to hating him for the next five years…if his father is to be believed.

The man gives him a wan smile. “For a week or so, then I will return to Sunspear.” 

He takes a breath. 

The dark gaze gives away nothing, only gestures towards a small trunk. “The Princess and I arranged some clothes and some other necessities for you while we travel. The Padishah, of course, will be responsible for outfitting you with everything while you are his guest-”

He glances sharply at man, in no mood to hear the polite lie. Seeing that, the man, Hotah, rises and tosses a key at him, “For the chest. Now, I will leave you to rest.” 

He wishes he could believe the show of sincerity, but, even if the man had not witnessed his most trying of days, when the man leaves him, the door is locked from the outside. 

Alone again, he glances around the small cabin. There is a window too small to escape from. Even if he could, where was he going to escape to? 

His head races as does his heart. 

Even if he does find a way…Who was going to house him? Those that had been loyal are beyond his reach. Even Rich is not his own now…He cannot rely on his position, his family…Who was going to help him fight his father now?

Weary he sits back down on the small pallet.

He eyes the key. Let him see the contents of chest. His belongings...

He almost is frightened to look, but, his curiosity wins out. Besides, he has the right to see what he is worth now. A few cotton shirts, some sturdy britches, a wool cloak suited for cool temperature, two pairs of shoes, underclothes, a comb, a small tool to shave with, a small knife, a small mound of salted bread and cheese, a small carafe for filling water, and a small pouch containing Norvosi coin perhaps good enough for food and lodging for perhaps two days. 

A far cry from what a Crown Prince would have.

Hotah said that he and Elia arranged for this. Did Hotah not tell her to give him anything else? Or did the man have orders for his ‘master’? Did Elia only arrange for this? The Elia of old, the one who still liked him, perhaps would have arranged for more. The one from now may pity him and perhaps tried to give him more or maybe she had one of her ladies do it to his father’s specifications. Or perhaps, his father, only allowed for this.

He closed the trunk and settles back on that narrow pallet.

There was nothing that could aid in his escape or even poison left for him.

Perhaps it was the finality of the matter but, he lets out a small huffing laugh. The contents of that chest is ill-suited for a Crown Prince of an entire realm but sufficient for a servant while traveling; nothing more, nothing less. And now he was not the former, just the latter. 

In truth, the obvious lesson does not even sting. Will the trunks content multiply or the items in it become finer in quality because he desires it? Is his father going to recall this ship? Reinstate him as his son or his heir? Is his mother going to look at him with anything besides disappointment? Is his brother going to look at him with anything beyond hatred? Is the only wife he can claim going to do her duty towards him now that she no longer must? Are his children going to remember him? Will the people of Westeros recall him fondly as their prince when he had not acted as a prince ought?

It’s gone, he thinks. His promise is gone. All his hopes and dreams remain just that. The time for those to flourish is gone, the chance for that is gone. The world would have been his and had been his. He squandered it. 

All those books and all those scrolls he poured over never spoke of this. People used to call him learned and intelligent. How could he have not seen this? He should have. But, he had not and now he must pay the price.

He thought he knew all. He broke away from the path his father charted for him because he thought destiny ruled his fate. 

Such a fool he had been. 

His fate is in his father’s hands as it always had been. Now, he cannot escape that knowledge. 

Just what his father wanted.


End file.
